


Out of Shadows

by glitterlessgold490



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Meetings, Languages and Linguistics, M/M, Maedhros is the Elven equivalent of a classics student, Pre-Slash, may continue this, seriously he needs a life, severe linguistics nerdity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 10:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10463238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterlessgold490/pseuds/glitterlessgold490
Summary: Maitimo and Findekáno get off to a rough start when Finwë forces Maitimo to tutor Findekáno in languages.Or, how Findekáno learned the song.





	

**Author's Note:**

> List of Names in Quenya:  
> Maitimo/Nelyafinwë - Maedhros  
> Findekáno - Fingon  
> Fëanáro - Fëanor  
> Nolofinwë - Fingolfin  
> Turukáno - Turgon  
> Carnistir - Caranthir  
> Makalaurë - Maglor  
> Curufinwë - Curufin  
> Umbarto - Amrod

“You want me to tutor Prince Findekáno.” Maitimo rubbed his temples, looking like a much more mature elf than one who was just shy of his first hundred years. “Can you imagine what my father would say?”

He could imagine it, certainly. “Absolutely not!” HIs father would have snapped, grey eyes flashing. “Training your own replacement! Don’t you forget, if my conniving half-brother succeeds in making himself heir over me - as we all know he’d love to do, then it’s this sniveling Findekáno that will rob you of your rightful place as second in line. For Aule’s sake, Maitimo, are you trying to make it easier for them? I thought you had inherited some of my sense.”  
“Fëanáro is not here,” said Finwë evenly, “and I doubt he’ll return for some time.”

That was also true. His father had taken Maitimo’s mother and brothers on another long meandering trip across Valinor, leaving Maitimo as his substitute to perform his official duties as Crown Prince and member of the king’s council. He claimed that it was good training for Maitimo, which it undoubtedly was, and the court approved because Maitimo, unlike his father, actually knew the meaning of the word “compromise,” which arguably made him a better politician.

Maitimo tried the diplomatic approach. “Surely, Grandfather, you can see that I am less than an ideal candidate-”  
“You have your father’s passion for languages,” said Finwë.

“Yes, but that’s the problem,” Maitimo argued. “If I teach his son to use ‘th’ instead of ‘s,’ Nolofinwë will never speak to me in council meetings again.”

Finwë laughed - actually laughed, as if the most heated linguistics-turned-political debate in the last millennia was trivial. “I think you’ll find that Findekáno is not so easily swayed.”

“That’s worse,” said Maitimo. “You said that he was careless and driving his tutors to distraction. How am I supposed to handle-”

“You tutored your younger brothers, did you not?”

Maitimo sighed, wondering why his grandfather had to be so reasonable. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, Grandfather. Arafinwë could teach him Telerin. His own grandmother could teach him Vanyarin. You could teach him Valarin, but you want us to heal the feud between our fathers, which is very sweet-”

“And won’t you try, Nelyafinwë?” Finwë asked, innocently, “to help your cousin, for the love you bear your old grandfather?”

Maitimo was tempted to snort. Finwë still looked as young and strong as the elf who had crossed the world centuries before, to bring the elves home. He sighed instead. Disobedience to those he loved was not in Maitimo’s nature. “I will tutor him, Grandfather.”

“Good,” said Finwë. “I will send him to your father’s study tomorrow. You are dismissed.”

Maitimo gave the customary bow and turned to leave, but then stopped. “Grandfather, does Nolofinwë know about this?”

“Ah,” said Finwë, “I told him that I’d find his son a tutor. I did not mention who.”

“Well,” said Maitimo, “I hope you have a plan for when your sons find out.”

 

Findekáno was late. This surprised Maitimo somewhat, because Nolofinwë was always exactly on time for council meetings and court functions. Then again, he didn’t know his half-cousin well at all. Maitimo dealt with Nolofinwë on a daily basis for official duties, but Nolofinwë and Fëanáro had an unspoken agreement to keep their children far apart. The last time Maitimo had even seen his cousin was at Arafinwë’s hundreth. Maitimo remembered seeing Prinke Findekáno trying to coax his sulky younger brother to dance. He did not know whether Findekáno had been successful because just then, his father, who admittedly had drank a bit too much had muttered something about Arafinwë being “half a Vanyar by birth and a Teleri by marriage, without much Noldo at all.” At that point his mother had decided that it was time for all of them to leave.

But looking around Fëanáro’s study and office, Maitimo knew that while his father could be haughty and sometimes overly aggressive, he was also brilliant. Books were strewn over every shelf and surface detailing the workings of metal, the shaping of gems, and the history of Arda. Maitimo knew that his father had written most of these and developed his own alphabet to do so - the Tengwar characters that were now used all over Valinor. Maitimo had read those notebooks that detailed his father’s development of those characters cover to cover, and even now, waiting for Findekáno, he flipped through the pages reverently, ignoring the gems and delicate twists of metal that hung from the ceiling. “Unworthy,” those gems seemed to say, glinting. “You are unworthy to stand in his office, even if he lent it to you while he was away.”

The door to the office was flung open with such force that the portrait of Miriel on the wall rattled. Maitimo jumped, slamming the notebook shut. He spun around to face Findekáno, who stood in the doorway. His heavy dark braids swung as Findekáno cocked his head to the side, rather like a curious puppy, and studied Maitimo with bright eyes. Maitimo frowned as the eyes flicked over him.

A smile slinked up the right side of Findekáno’s face. “So Grandfather wasn’t lying!” His voice had a hint of both a song and a laugh. He sauntered inside the study to face his new tutor. Although Findekáno should have reached his full height decades ago, Maitimo was a full head taller and Findekáno had to tilt up his chin to make eye contact. “What did he have to bribe you with?”

“I am happy to serve the wishes of the king,” said Maitimo, frowning deeper.

Findekáno laughed at that. “Alright, if that’s your story.” He plopped down in a leather chair. Maitimo heard, with horror, the crunching of parchment.

“Move!” He ordered, pulling Findekáno up and rescuing the crumpled sheet. It appeared to be a series of notes by his maternal grandfather on how to prevent copper from tarnishing. “First rule of tutoring,” he said, “Don’t touch anything. Second rule: be on time or you’re wasting my time-”

“Look, we don’t have to do this,” said Findekáno, waving his hands. “I don’t want to either.”

Maitimo switched to Vanyarin Quendya as a test. “Why are you here then? Did Grandfather bribe you?”

“Not a bribe,” Findekáno gave up and switched back to Noldorin Quenya for the last word. “Blackmail.”

Maitimo continued in Vanyarin. “Blackmail. What did he blackmail you with?”

Findekáno blushed. “He said he would tell the Queen about her hair ribbons.” Through prodding, Maitimo was able to get the full story from him. When Findekáno had been about twenty, he had “borrowed” a pair of Indis’s ribbons of rich goldens silk, and promptly ruined them by climbing a tree where the branches snapped and tore them. Finwë had caught the little prince sneaking back into his grandmother's rooms with a pair of homemade ribbons cut from Findekáno’s yellow tunic as a replacement.

Maitimo almost laughed and almost asked if he really thought the Queen would not notice the difference, but he reminded himself to stay focused. Findekáno was definitely trying to charm and distract him from the lesson. “Your Vanyarin accent is very good, but whenever you don’t know a word you switch to Noldorin. It would be better if you just stopped and thought it through-”

Findekáno rolled his eyes, perfectly illustrated his opinion on stopping and thinking things through.

“I’m serious,” said Maitimo. “Try and think of some replacement Valarin words before using Noldorin. Anyway, let’s test your reading comprehension.” He handed him a sheet of parchment.

Findekáno sighed, tapping his foot. “Yeah, I can’t read this,” he said, handing the sheet back to Maitimo.

Maitimo did not take the page. “Try. Sound it out.”

“I can’t, said Findekáno. “Find me some Vanyarin in Tengwar.”

Maitimo’s mouth fell open. “You mean you can’t read Sarati characters?”

“Why would I?” Findekáno glared at him. “Everyone uses Tengwar script now. Even my father says it’s more convenient even if Fëanáro is an arrogant jerk who never shuts up about it.”

Findekáno’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. Maitimo’s face was as red as his hair, and his jaw and fists were clenched. “Heal the divide between our fathers,” he said, “Grandfather must be out of his mind.”

“Look, I didn’t mean-” Findekáno began, “I mean, it was half a compliment, really, and I didn’t think - but hey, you’re right, Grandfather’s nuts, why don’t we just call it a day?”

“You want me to reward you for your insolence, half-cousin? I don’t think so.” The gears in Maitimo’s head had been steadily clicking. He began scrawling the Sarati characters on a sheet of parchment. “You insult my father, what makes you think you have the right to his alphabet?” He slammed the paper down in front of Findekáno. “There are the Sarati of Rúmil. Memorize them and their sounds. By tomorrow I want you to have written the mother name and father name of every elf in the house of Finwë using them. I will be testing you.”

“This is unfair, you’re supposed to be helping me-”

“My father was still developing Tengwar when I was very young,” said Maitimo. “Sarati was my first script. If I can learn this while still an elfling-”

“You snobby, self-important Fëanorian!”

“Fëanorians may be self important, but at least we have the brains to back it up. What does Nolofinwë’s brood have besides envy? Not much, I should think. Prove me wrong.”

“We have plenty of brains-”

“Prove me wrong.”

“I will!”

“Fine then. You are dismissed. Be back here the same time tomorrow, and be on time!”

Findekáno made sure to “accidently” knock over a pile of books on the way out.

 

Findekáno was late again. Perhaps he wasn’t going to show up at all. Anxiously, Maitimo twisted a lock of his red hair around his finger and imagined Finwë’s disappointed face. Miriel’s painted eyes stared at him forlornly. Maybe he had miscalculated and been too harsh. Maybe Findekáno wasn’t going to rise to the challenge-

The door banged open. “Hello, Copper-top.” And there was Findekáno, and he looked smug.

“Copper-top?” Maitimo repeated, letting go of the red strands of hair. He didn’t know whether that was supposed to be an insult or not. Findekáno did not answer, only slapped a paper into Maitimo’s hands for scrutiny. On it was written in Sarati the names of the house of Finwë but- “It’s incomplete,” said Maitimo. “Where is Finwë himself?”

“Ah,” said Findekáno, who had slouched into the dark leather chair and was drumming his fingers on the armrest. The laugh was creeping back into his voice. “Well, you told me to the father names and mother names. Since Finwë has no parents-”

“Very well,” said Maitimo, handing him a quilt and parchment. “Write his chosen name for me here, please.”  
“Findekáno scuffed his feet on the floor as he concentrated. Slowly the characters took shape. Maitimo studied them. “You actually did it,” he said. “You memorized them.”

“Yes, with no thanks to you,” said Findekáno. He paused, studying Maitimo’s face. “Wait a minute… you’re smiling.”

Maitimo relaxed his face. “No, I’m not.”

“You were! For a second there, almost - you can smile? But that’s beside the point, you were supposed to be mad. Why - wait - you wanted this.”

“Well, either you learned what you were supposed to, or gave up and looked like an idiot,” said Maitimo. I would really be happy either way.”

Findekáno jumped up, braids swinging. “You tricked me! You - you manipulated me into learning something completely useless -”

“Sarati isn’t useless!” Maitimo burst out. “Take the Vanyar. They change so slowly half of them still use Sarati. The Teleri’s oldest and loveliest hymns to Uinen are recorded in Sarati. Our oldest buildings and states are adorned with Sarati script. Noldo historical documents are in Sarati. The firsthand accounts of the Great Journey - tales of Cuiviénen where Elves first awoke under the stars described so beautifully you could swear the writer was painting with words, hymns to the stars from before we knew of Varda, laments for the lost Avari and the home we left behind, songs of the crossing of the ocean - they are all written in Sarati and we have to keep learning it so the beauty of these stories and our ancient home is never forgotten!”

There was silence Findekáno was tugging on one of his braids and starting at Maitimo. “Wow,” he said finally, “You’re really passionate about this.”

“Well… yes.” Maitimo looked away. “Call it my obsessive Fëanorian blood, if you will. I don’t have half my father’s skill with metal or jewels, or my mother's skill with stone, or my brother’s skill with music, but father does say I have a skilled tongue.”

“Oh do you?”

“With language!” Maitimo changed the subject. “What are you passionate about?”

“Exploring,” said Findekáno. “Hunting, archery, singing, my harp.”

Maitimo considered the bookshelves until he found a thin, fading volume bound in read lather. Gently he flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “A little adventure and a little music. Here you go.”  
Findekáno studied the vertical Sarati lines. “What is this?”

“This,” said Maitimo, “is the song the Noldor sung when they crossed the Pelori mountains and beheld the light of the two trees for the very first time.”

Findekáno’s eyes widened. Slowly he deciphered the first line. “Out of… shadows we… have.. Walked?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Maitimo. Together they translated, Findekáno scratching out the lyrics in Tengwar.

“What is this?” Findekáno asked, pointing.

“The chords and the melody,” Maitimo answered.

Findekáno’s quill moved faster, translating. He hummed a few bars and looked up with a grin. “I can play this! Let’s go get my harp!”

Maitimo tried to protest but Findekáno had grabbed his sleeve and was already yanking him down the hallway. They sprinted down the castle halls to the wing where Nolofinwë’s family lived - the wing where Maitimo was never supposed to go. Findekáno flung open a door and darted inside, knocking over a tower of small blocks.

“Finno!” Findekáno’s younger brother wailed. “You ruined it!”

“Sorry Turukáno,” Findekáno called back, hopping over little block walls and castles to avoid further damage. “I know you’ll build it back up even better."

Maitimo hesitated in the doorway. The labyrinth of blocks covered the entirety of the blue carpet. The whole room was decorated in Nolofinwë’s preferred blue and silver, with a tapestry of Telperion hanging over the couch.

“What are you doing here?” Maitimo turned to look at the elfling in the midst of the block city. With his straight dark hair and high, thin nose, he looked unnervingly like a young Nolofinwë.

“Oh, I won’t come in,” said Maitimo. “I’m just… visiting.”

“You’re not supposed to be here. We don’t like you.”

“It’s alright, Turukáno, he’s with me.” Findekáno reappeared, harp in hand. “Don’t tell father, alright? I’ll buy you a pastry from Tirion.”

Turukáno folded his arms. “Strawberry?”

“Of course.” Findekáno hopped over the blocks and ruffled his brother’s hair, which Turukáno promptly smoothed. Findekáno rejoined Maitimo in the hallway and closed the door. “Sorry about that. Turukáno’s a bit of a grouch sometimes.”

Maitimo wondered if Findekáno remembered they had said worse to each other yesterday, but he decided not to bring it up. “Carnistir has been a grouch since the day he was born. I’m hoping he grows out of it.”

“Alright, let’s go! If we hurry we’ll make it in time.”

Maitimo hurried after him. “In time for what?”

“The mingling of the lights, of course!”

“Findekáno, no! We’re supposed to be in the middle of a tutoring session. We’re not going all the way to the Green Mound-”

“It’s educational! How am I supposed to appreciate the words unless I see what the first elves saw?”

“We are not going to go singing in the light of the two trees. I am not my brother - I don’t have the voice - It’s ridiculous!”

Findekáno was still walking. “Copper-top, I’ve only known you for two days, and I can already tell that you need to get out more, since your idea of fun is translating things. Besides, if you keep me in the castle, and I don’t get to buy Turukáno a pastry in Tirion, he’ll tell father I brought you to our rooms. Come on, it will be an adventure.”

Maitimo sighed. “Fine, but I’m giving you extra homework.”

 

Telperion, the silver tree, was waning when they rode up to the green hill, and a crowd of elves were gathering to see the mingling of the lights, circling the trees. They chattered with each other in eager anticipation, because although the trees mingled twice a day, the sight was so lovely that even through the centuries the elves never tired of it. Small elflings rode on their parents’ shoulders, winding their hands into their parents’ hair. Young couples stood arm in arm, awash in the silver light. A group was tossing a ball on the green, darting and laughing. Maitimo and Findekáno dismounted, tied their horses, and walked up to the crowd.

“I’m too short. Let’s get to the front.” Findekáno began ducking and weaving his way through the people. Maitimo had no choice to follow. They pushed and apologized their way to the front of the crowd until they were standing under the very branches of Telperion. Looking up, Maitimo could see the silver undersides of the leaves in a vast canopy arching high above him, the branches decked in silver blossoms. A breeze sent those leaves rustling and flickering silver and green, and a sprinkling of silver dew rained down onto Maitimo’s head, dousing him in pale glitter. “You’re sparkling!” Findekáno laughed.

“Well, so are you!” Silver droplets twinkled in Findekáno’s dark hair like stars. “Serves us right for standing so close.”  
A cry of delight arose from the elves. On Laurelin, a faint glimmer of golden light was visible. Its flowers were about to open. “Hold this for me.” Findekáno passed Maitimo the lyrics sheet and readied his harp. Before Maitimo could mount one last futile protest, Findekáno plucked his harp and began to sing in a high, clear voice.  
“Out of shadows we have walked,  
And did not know we were in darkness.  
They told us of the light,  
And we did not understand”

Nervously, Maitimo joined in, praying his voice wasn’t too weak. Together they sang,  
“Until this moment when we saw  
What we had journeyed for.  
What mind could comprehend it,  
They who have not seen?  
Who could dream up such beauty?”

As they sang, the golden light of Laurelin started to grow. Maitimo heard a gasp and what sounded like a sob. Looking up, he saw that some of the elves weren’t staring at the trees, but at Findekáno and himself. They watched him with expressions of wonder and recognition. With a chill, Maitimo realized that these were the elves who had made the journey, who crossed the sea, who remembered. These elves, the eldest in the crowd, raised their voices, and it was a chorus that sang the rest of the song,  
“Look, my sisters, my brothers, see!  
Silver song pours from the branches  
Soft and lilting, sweet and clear.  
Golden laugher blooms from the boughs  
Bold and rolling, bright and brash.  
And all the world is changed!  
Colors glow richer than our jewels  
Each shape sharp and fine and strong  
At last we see! At last we know!  
At last we understand!  
And wish nothing more than to remain  
Warm in this golden-silver land.”

The song rose and echoed, flowing down the hill as warm and glorious as the light of the trees themselves. Laurelin bloomed, releasing its light more brilliant than fire. Maitimo saw Findekáno beaming, his smile as bright as the silver and gold light that illuminated the eyes and faces of the wonderstruck elves. Findekáno looked at Maitimo, laughing, and Maitimo found himself laughing as well, as the light and the song swelled and grew until it seemed all of Valinor was filled with liquid joy.

That was the beginning.

 

This was the end.

Ash and stone and a metal cuff.

In his countless years of imprisonment, Maitimo had allowed himself to think of that song only once, when, half in delirium, he thought he saw a glimpse of the light of Laurelin sailing in the sky, and heard the sound of elven trumpets marching to his rescue. In his madness, Maitimo had struggled and screamed and swung by the chain that bound his wrist to the cliff, smashing his back into the rock until sticky, metallic-smelling blood ran down the stones, but soon the darkness returned and the trumpets faded and he knew it was just another trick of Sauron, and he pushed the memory of the trees and the song and happy Findekáno deep down where Sauron could never twist it.

Sauron was fond of tricks. He liked to worm his way into Maitimo’s head, taking what he wanted and warping it for his own purposes. His favorite game was to shift his form into someone Maitimo knew. He was playing it now - Maitimo could hear an elven voice calling his name from below. Some standout episodes included:  
\- Sauron staging a rescue disguised as Makalaurë, only to get himself brutally dismembered and “murdered” by orcs.  
\- Findekáno screaming, “you betrayed me! You dragged us into this, then left us to die!”  
\- Curufinwë, who just laughed at Maitimo, saying “of course we’re not going to save you. Father would have prefered me as king anyway.”  
\- Umbarto, still burning from Losgar, shrieking with pain as his flesh was consumed, crying “You let them burn me! Why didn’t you stop them, big brother? This is what happens to oath-breakers!”  
\- Every time Sauron turned into an elf from Alqualondë.

Maitimo closed his eyes and ignored the voice that was almost a song, crying out in the distance. It was better not to react, so Sauron couldn’t punish him for trying to escape. This would be his end, hanging from the cliff, and he hoped it would not be too long in coming. As soon as he could figure out how his grandmother had done it, how she had simply, gently released her spirit, he would do it gladly, and feel no more horror, no more guilt, simply rest in Mandos for all eternity. Darkness and peace. He had tried and tried, but something kept his fëa tied to his body. Perhaps it was the Oath. He hoped not.

“Copper-top, where are you?” Sometimes Maitimo hated Sauron worse than Morgoth himself. This was one of those times, when Sauron mimicked the voice he loved most. “Can you hear me?”

Why wouldn’t Mandos just take his spirit? Were his crimes so black that even doom was too good for him? Limply he swung by his wrist, his shoulder in familiar agony, too tired even to cry.

“Out of shadows we have walked,  
And did not know we were in darkness.  
They told us of the light,  
And we did not understand”

Faintly, faintly it came, like the last light of waning Telperion, as gentle as the first bud of Laurelin opening. Maitimo barely registered it at first. He froze. The voice continued,  
“Until this moment when we saw  
What we had journeyed for.”

“Findekáno,” he said. All over, he was shaking. His voice was a rasp, faint as the crumpling of parchment. He forced it louder, he forced it into wobbling notes, he made himself answer,  
“What mind could comprehend it,  
They who have not seen?  
Who could dream up such beauty?”

“Maitimo!” It was a shout of joy. “I’m coming - help me find you. Keep singing!”

And so he did, the tears dripping like Telperion’s dew.


End file.
